The Incredible Journey
by DarkPhoenixForce
Summary: The bizarre tale of an even more bizarre heroine, or perhaps anti-heroine.
1. Chapter 1

Joslin Nothre grimaced as she pulled her scarlet hood over her face. "Damn Nordic cold," she muttered irritably. Sighing, she shouldered her burden once more and struggled through the thick snow drifts.

Her maroon eyes gleamed under her hood, highlighted against her pale blue skin. Most people who saw her mistook her for a Breton suffering from hypothermia, the faint bluish tint of her skin giving her an almost unhealthy look. A second glance would prove those observers wrong once her red eyes and pointed ears, which peeked out from beneath wild black hair, were noted.

That was the reason why she normally kept her face covered.

Sighing, she lifted her eyes to the midnight sky above her, grudgingly admitting to herself that Skyrim nights were beautiful, if miserably cold.

The gates of Windhelm loomed above her in the distance, a handful of scattered torches lighting the walkway up to the main entrance.

Grinning wickedly to herself, Joslin trudged toward the sleepy Nord guards on duty, the torchlight flickering on the heavy looking bundle she dragged.

As she reached the gate, she threw down her burden, taking a step back and holding out her hands, smiling at the guards, who stared at her in bewilderment. Stooping down, she pulled away the cloth sack, revealing the contents. It was a dead Stormcloack filled with ebony arrows. The two guards stared at her, speechless.

"What? What're you gonna do about it?" she asked mockingly.

The one on the left blinked and then spoke, the moment she had been waiting for,

"I used to be an adventurer like you, until I took an arrow to the knee."

A lightning storm and an angry chase later, the two gate guards lay dead and Joslin was halfway on the road to Falkreath.


	2. Chapter 2

Joslin trudged irritably through the forest, occasionally sending a fireball at any unfortunate deer that happened to be within the vicinity. Most of them scattered as she approached, but a few of the more naïve, or perhaps only _deaf _ones allowed her to get close enough to hit them. They were usually too fast to kill though, darting away through the trees.

Ever since the episode with Kevin, which, by the by, was the affectionate name she had given to the Stormcloak whose body she had deposited in front of the guards at the gates of Windhelm, things had been rather dull.

Feeling somewhat morose, she plopped down on a stone outcropping and began to fish around in her bag. Several minutes passed before she found the item for which she was searching.

Carefully, she withdrew a somewhat battered skull from her bag and, propping herself up on her elbows with the skull on her extended palm, drawled lazily, "Life's not fair is it? You see I, I shall never be Empress, and _you_," here she gave a twisted chuckle, "well, _you _shall never see the light of day, or anything for that matter, seeing as how you . . . don't really . . . _have _eyes, do you?"

The skull made no answer.

With a sigh, she flipped herself on her back, setting the skull back in her pack. The unfortunate owner of said cranium had met his end when he attempted to pickpocket the half-Dunmer on the road into Skyrim shortly before she had been captured by the Imperials.

It was really a shame that she had run into trouble so soon afterwards, as she possessed an excellent recipe for meat pies which she had obtained from her half-crazed Breton tutor.

"Oh, what or who I wouldn't kill for a sweet roll right about now," she murmured through closed eyelids.

The sound of wind flowing through the tree canopy overhead lulled her into a light doze. She dreamt of a Nord, drunk on mead, beating his horse with a mace while a little boy watched in horror. The child's father urged him to depart the scene, but, before the man knew what was happening, the little boy had crept up to the Nord and stabbed him in the back with a dagger.

Joslin awoke with a faint smile on her lips to see the moon gleaming brightly in the dark sky above her. A rustling sound in the bushes caught her attention. Careful not to make a sound, she slowly turned her head, red eyes peering into the gloom.

A nervous looking bandit was creeping toward her, dagger drawn. He hadn't actually seen her yet, but he _had _noticed her gear lying on the ground a few feet away, prompting him to try his hand at stealing.

He wasn't a very good bandit; he had only been on the job for three weeks. It had actually been his desire to be a Stormcloak soldier, but Ulfric had not so kindly informed him that there was no need for a weakling who couldn't even kill an ice wraith.

The bandit's pleas that he _had_ killed the ice wraith but had, in fact, been ambushed shortly after by a group of crazed Skooma dealers who stole all of his belongings had fallen on deaf ears. Thus, he had decided to become a bandit.

Already though, that profession_ too_ was proving to be beyond his grasp. On his very first raid, he had managed to get separated from his party, and had wandered blindly through the woods until he came upon the very caravan he was supposed to be attacking . . . a few minutes before the attack was to take place.

Having inadvertently warned his targets, he proceeded to run for his life as the angry travelers (coincidentally turning out to be a band of battle mages) attempted to take his head off with magic. A string of similar escapades later, he found himself in the woods near Falkreath, about to attempt what appeared to be a simple robbery. Oh how very wrong he was.

Joslin indiscreetly cast an invisibility spell on herself, climbing to her feet and creeping quietly away as the bandit drew closer.

The man stooped down to retrieve the pack, looking delighted at having found it unguarded. He hefted it to his shoulder and was just turning to stroll away, when Joslin, who had used his distraction to sneak up next to him, whispered, "Going somewhere?"

The bandit froze in place, lips moving as he attempted to choke out an answer. "Who?" he managed to gasp.

Joslin smiled to herself as she replied, "Heeeeeerrrrrreeeeee'ssss Johnney!" and proceeded to hack his head off with an enchanted wood axe. As his body hit the ground, a book fell from his pocket.

Bending over, she picked it up and flipped it open to the title page.

It read: The Diary of Kevin.


End file.
